The Mansion
The Mansion'', a Big Time Rush-Carrie ''fic by CrystalNeonSummerSnow' Genre: Supernatural/Humor A/N: They say it couldn't be done; they say it was silly. They acutally said that horror and humor is like ice cream and... spaghetti, maybe? Nah, I'm just kidding. Y'all never said that. :D Well, enjoy! Title Cover ﻿ Prologue The arrogance in John Hargensen’s eyes outmatched his flagrantly proud grin, and the Sun made that glow. To him, the sunlight was the best part of the day; it was his glorious spotlight. And a spotlight was essential for his grand opening today. He hid in the shadows of the hotel’s roof, as a creature prowls in the shadows of a jungle. He used his hand to smooth his hair, white and loose strands falling onto his polished shoes. He didn’t care. He was too proud to care. As he always was. Success was pictured in his head; the Black Prom was a forgotten piece of history stomped into the ground. Chamberlain arose from ghostly shambles, shambles that were credited to the girl he’s always hated. Carrie White, was it? Yes, that was her name, a name forever plagued in his mind like a cancerous tumor. John remembered meeting her before when attending a school play; Carrie was the first character to die. It fitted her quite well, as you can imagine. Even though he couldn’t explain it, he hated Carrie; even though her classmates couldn’t explain it, they hated Carrie; even though the school staff and faculty couldn’t explain it, they hated Carrie; even though her mother couldn’t explain it, she hated Carrie. Out of all, however, John hated her the most. He lost his wealth and career (daughter is the word he replaces it with) thanks to her. Telekinesis was the same thing as Hell: you never expect it. That was perfect enough to describe it; telekinesis was Hell, and Carrie was its Satan. Thanks to her, the daughter he probably bought instead of made shatters in the ground; the fog coils around the town; the fallen angels laugh at his deserved misery; in other words, Carrie laughs. However, John put his foot down. With the money he earns from being the go-around with customers, John was finally able to create the Hargensen Mansion, another hotel he created. Sure, maybe the unhinged scent of burnt hemp and fresh horse cavorted around his mind, but would he care? There’s an obvious answer: no. His mind was too clouded with wonderful thoughts of his guests laughing and drinking and so forth to care; his guests would be spoiled, a golden memory he had with his daughter. And if he succeeded—like he always did—Carrie would scream as her ghost would descend into her fiery home. As John sucked in a breath and had stridden to the podium, the chunky construction workers clapped and cheered, beer scented in the puffs of air they let out. Someone else was in the audience; a lanky virago, he would call it. When he rambled on about a better future and gold raining on a clear day in the future, that same virago barreled her way through the crowd, eyes widened from horror as images of a fire and a dying girl in her arms flashed. John was oblivious until the creature clambered up the marble steps. Once pushing him out of the way, their eyes drilled into the others. Everything paused. He knew that face. Sue gasped in a few breaths as sweat distilled into her frizzy, greying hair. The pearls of her necklace dangled over her small bosom, clacking together continually. Her hand soon clutched the cotton over her chest. If he wasn’t too surprised to smirk once, he would’ve joked that it looked like she was having a heart attack. But he was too busy gathering up his thoughts as she gathered her breath. It had been years since the woman had left Chamberlain since the disaster; it had been years since that memoir she’d written had been published. It had also been years since she was taken to an asylum. With all breath attained, Sue ripped the mic off the wobbly podium. “Attention, all men (and John) that are listening! What you’ve just built upon this ground is a disgrace to the memory of our evolution!” John tripped once on a step once he got up, eyebrows raised in chagrin at her. “Upon these grounds, a sin has been committed by all you dumbasses! The Black Prom still stands, but this pendulum of a tourist toy has fallen upon such ground! The fire still burns, so why put it out?” Then it became annoyance. “Her ghost still haunts, and may a plague be cursed upon you all! The ghost won’t be pleased until this building is destroyed! Listen to me; destroy this hotel before she does!” An angered growl was John’s initial response before swiping away the mic. “While a nice freedom speech, I don’t appreciate your gall, Snell,” he responded, calm but firm. Sue merely frowned. “But may I ask, since when have you been protective of this Carrie? Didn’t she kill—?” “What’re you trying to say, Mr. Hargensen?” she growled, trying to block away the memory of her beloved. “That Carrie deserved such a nasty prank? That your daughter was right to take lethal action upon deserved comeuppance? Is that what you’re claiming?” To be perfectly honest, John was impressed by her improved vocabulary. Years in the cuckoo hut paid her well. “I don’t need a reminder of the bitch that killed my daughter. Now, if you’re done with your feminist babbling, may you please—” He couldn’t respond once his slender body fell to the marble platform. Sue directed her gaze to her unfurled claws, a drop of blood dotted on the tip of her middle finger. Convenient for it to be that finger, considering the blazing fury that created a storm in her mind. She quickly shot a cold glare at the audience, making sure that they weren’t thinking of trying to confront her; how could they? Icy flames from a haunting past swam in her pale eyes, the tartan skirt of her dress billowing around her svelte legs. The look in her eyes, the flame that consumed all thought, dared anyone to intervene. No response was the best response. Her neck popped when she directed her gaze back onto the man. He grunted as he shot back onto his feet, as if he fell on a bed of needles. “I apologize if I’ve ruined your vanity project,” Sue hissed through her gritted teeth, eyes narrowed into slits, “But we never asked for your prejudice,” “Who do you mean ‘we’?” “The survivors of the prom, that’s who.” Pause. A cold chill darted down his spine. While John Hargensen was known as a rock-steady person (as well as the rest of the Hargensens were), Sue’s venomous words penetrated his bulletproof shield. The last thing the cold fish needed was the sickening thought of bones cracking and blood splashing as the poor martyr stood idle on her cracked pedestal, where she would soon fall into the fire. His fists clenched, white-knuckle rage coursing through his pulsing veins. Why should he listen to that backbiter? This was Little Miss Susie Homemaker, the girl who dreamed of being a politician while normal people dreamt of the glamorous, from ballroom lounges to red carpets to a castle-like mansion all the way in jolly old England. His anger challenged Sue, dared her to continue; and that, she did. “Face it, Hargensen, you’re prejudiced. Everything that’s different, you try to change. You try to shatter the fragile existence of individualism as well as virtue and vulnerability. And that’s the path you manipulated Chris into taking.” “That’s enough, Snell,” “Yes, it’s people like you that suffer first.” Sue pointed at the three scratches on his cheek to prove her point. He sternly slapped her hand away. “It’s people like me that succeed first. Y’know, I remembered the night you and Chris had a slumber party at your place (and I still cannot stomach that; who even came up with a princess and a pauper as friends?); I remembered how much your mother yammered about a bright future you would have and how successful you’d turn out to be with your carefree mind. Well, if only she could see you now.” Another slap, a gasp came from the audience. A bewildering silence floated over their heads as she placed her stiletto on the man’s chest. She tilted her head as those same scratches were shown to have become deeper, as blood oozed and trailed its way to his dimpled chin. Her eyes became sharp cyan daggers, as if she was readying herself to kill him. It’s not like she wouldn’t want to, though. “I’d say the same thing to you, John,” Then, like lightning, the imagined hate solidified into reality. Venom was spat, obscenities shooting from their mouths as his oddly meaty hands enclosed around her frail neck. She pounded her fists against the man’s chest, screaming even as her face flushed into a dangerous purple. Had someone not have known them well enough, they’d confuse the sound for assault. Eventually, it became too much. Half of the ruck climbed onto the platform to pry them apart; some grabbed John by the shoulders, some grabbed Sue by the neck. She didn’t fear that they would strangle her; they were actually trying to free her. However, as the fiasco continued, one of the men froze like a statue as he heard the cracking of twigs and leaves behind him. “Hey, boss? Who’s that chick running through the woods?” Another man noticed once seeing his friend’s fear. John let go of Sue’s neck as he saw the shadow practically hover through the woods. In the aftermath of coughing, the bruises cut into her throat’s flesh, Sue’s eyes went wide and the livid flames in her eyes were extinguished by fear. That bony physic, that flat hair, a sudden dizzy spell flooded Sue’s mind. Familiar, it was, and that’s what made it scary. A smirk hooked onto John’s lips. “She’s probably trying to pick flowers,” he muttered. However, that theory dimmed from mind as the wooden doors of the mansion creaked open. Concerned murmurs danced in the stiff air. From comments like “Is she in there?” or “Whoa, creepy,” it was starting to become too much for John. He stormed past the blubbering fools and into the woods. “I swear, first I get some Femi-Nazi and look where it leads me to,” he muttered, a few swearwords left unsaid. He stopped once he found a hunched figure underneath a cherry tree. The petals flittered in the purling wind, some landing in her hair. He didn’t inch further; he stood anchored into the ground. “Who are you? Who do you think you are, lurking around like a tiger?” he shouted. No answer came. The tiger remark matched her very well; she looked like a complete animal, as if waiting for the kill. His forehead folded and his brows knit at the unresponsive girl. No one leaves John Hargensen without an answer. He repeated the question a few times, voice louder every time; still nothing. That did it. He inched closer, readying his voice to scream. But, by the time he did— Flex. A cry in pain rang in the air like an alarm. As all the workers ran to the source, they found an arm slung out lifelessly; they found a slack jaw dotted with blood at a corner. The smell of sold weed still danced lifelessly over his hands and neck. That body was no longer a body; it was a piece of trash, as if it wasn’t to begin with. Yes, it was far from the definition of a body; all it would be soon was part of the ground. John’s brown eyes stared at the hazily clouded sky and forever they would. Conveniently, a drop of rain became two before a downpour was cast upon them. Sue unsurely knelt down to the man. Her fingers ran over the bloodstained bark of the tree. A few chipped pieces of wood fell aimlessly between her fingers. She turned around to see no crowd beside her; only foot tracks were her company. That and the swirling mass of darkness that encompassed all remaining beauty in the sky. There she was again, all alone. Alone was Sue’s best self-description. Since the prom night, she’s been kept in a box, suffocated from the guilt and trapped with the nightmares. Her kinky locks hung limply in her face, causing another deleterious memory to revive itself. Her hair looked the same way it did now when she and Tommy shared their first kiss. She remembered perfectly: a motif of footprints on the field after the big game, confetti scattered across the withering, damp grass. She could feel a soft hand caress the small of her back; she could feel a wildfire paint her face as his lips brushed against hers, the tastes of sugar and honey clashing together. She stared down at her palms, focusing on the right ring finger. If Tommy had lived, there’d be a ring on that finger. Getting back upon to her knees, she brushed off the muddy debris from her dress and curiously veered back to the door. The only shadow she could see was her own to start with; that’s how all kinds of terror starts. The doors shut by the time the tree fell. The rain fell against the windows like bullets, a quick bolt of lightning tearing through the darkness. She stretched her hand out to the door, reluctant to grasp the rusty handle. Who knows, Snell, she thought soberly, she could be in there. She could be, even though she hoped she couldn’t. That was when the doors hammered open. Sue fell as a bruise crept onto her blanched face. Groaning in pain, she stumbled on her feet as she got up. Nothing stirred inside the lounge. The red nylon rug was arranged perfectly; the diamonds that composed an elegant chandelier swung typically; the only thing that stayed in the lounge was pompous completion from a woe-weary drug go-around. However, for a buttinsky like Susan D. Snell, that wasn’t enough for her. She gingerly ambled into the lounge. That was when something from behind grabbed her arm as the doors shut with no subtle movement. The grip was fierce, awkward, a scream tearing from the shadow’s mouth. When Sue turned around, a flash of feral teal froze time itself. She knew that eye color anywhere. With the shine of fresh tears washed over those mortified eyes, she knew its owner. Those were Carrie’s eyes. With a scream battling against Carrie’s, Sue thrashed her way from the grip with no avail. “Help me! Help me!” the girl screamed, “Why did you do this to me?!” Stringy blonde locks flew in her face as another scream ripped from her mouth. Sue quickly scrambled to the nearest payphone. Damnit! The wire’s cut! ''Her thoughts cursed for a moment until she fished in her pocket for her cell phone. But before she could finish dialing, the shadow vanished. The lounge vanished. Sanity vanished. She splayed across the ground, her scraped knees recovering from the sudden force that shoved her out. With a quick and confused blink, Sue saw the sky again. The woods remained a dismal glade; the body disappeared. Blood dried into the grass as birds began to chirp for the wrong reason. She turned to see the mansion before her. The sunlight glared over her, but she was too stunned to notice. The red lipstick graffiti on the door sailed through the depths of her inner insanity as she hit her knees and wept. ''Sin Never Dies. May 1: Homecoming Few pieces of sunlight bounced off the pool; that was a sign that a rainstorm was coming. The boys didn’t care, as they slumped tiredly in the pool chairs. One of the boys lifted his sunglasses to see a covey of birds fly beneath the bleak clouds. He let out a soft, inaudible sigh. “Looks like we’re getting a storm soon,” he muttered. No one responded. Big Time Rush was a band that consisted of four boys: calm and collected leader Kendall Knight, callous “pretty boy” James Diamond, addle-minded goofball Carlos Garcia, and mousy bookworm Logan Mitchell. If they weren’t professional, they were at least attractive. They had just gotten back from a cross-country tour; expect them to be tired. The only thing they wanted to work on was leafing through teen magazines and ordering as much slushies as they can for their future brain freeze offs. Footsteps echoed in Logan’s head as he suddenly hid in the nearest bush. It was Camille. “Hey, guys!” she cheeped happily. “Glad you’re back!” “Thanks,” Kendall smiled. Camille wasn’t surprised that Kendall looked a little bit tense. It was expected since she always slaps him in the face when practicing her auditioning, and with her standing in an extravagantly shining dress, it usually meant a future audition. She let out a soft laugh. “You act like as if I’m gonna slap you in the face.” She pinched his cheek like an aunt would to her nephew. The boys eyed one another for a moment; her in a happy mood was honestly scarier, adding the stretched—as if forced—grin. Kendall awkwardly cleared his throat. “Yeah… well, you seem happy. Got a new role?” Camille nodded joyfully and did a short happy dance. It was uncanny, yet at the same time cute, for lack of better description. “I’m gonna get the part in a horror film remake!” “You mean the remake of The Shining?” “How’d you know?” Camille tilted her head a little, as a cat would. Kendall focused his eyes on the red sign that said The Shining starring Camille Roberts and so forth and smirked, “I dunno. Lucky guess? Besides, that’s your favorite movie, isn’t it?” “Camille!” a distant man shouted. “Come on, Camille! Rehearsal’s in ten minutes! Enough with the idle chit-chat.” “Coming, Mr. Simmons! Sorry, that’s the producer. Bye!” she scampered happily across the blazing hot concrete. Kendall sighed. “Okay. She’s gone, Logan,” “Whew. Thanks, guys,” Logan sighed in relief. The boys couldn’t help but simper and laugh at Logan’s paranoia. It was odd of him to be afraid of Camille; they’ve been tight friends since they met. Sure, Camille’s obsession with acting clashed with Logan’s hysteria, but they still made the friendship work. Once, it even developed into a romance… at least, until she kissed James when rehearsing for a soap opera audition. They still ended up friends in the end, but the reason Logan was hiding from her was somewhat similar to Camille’s situation with James before… “So what if you kissed one of the Jennifers? It was just for a music video. Besides, we got to meet Snoop Dogg again,” Kendall laughed. Humor was always the best comfort he could give. Carlos shot his head to Logan sharply. “Quick question: how can you guys be able to get the girls and not me?” James quirked an eyebrow up, as if inquired to insult his goofy friend; Carlos glared at him. “Don’t. Even. Answer.” Logan clasped the arms of the pool chair and bit his lip. He knew it was pathetic of him to hide for nothing; but he just didn’t want Camille to see him with a crumpled face. He hated causing trouble; he couldn’t help it. Kendall patted his shoulder kindly. “No need to worry, buddy. I highly doubt she’s mad. Look, she got the role as Wendy Torrance; she’s too happy to be mad,” No, she’s actually too busy being crazy—as usual—to notice. No wonder she got the role. “Yeah, Logan,” James added. “Besides, you just gotta act smooth around the ladies,” He flashed a cool smile at the ladies to exemplify. They instantly melted. “You gotta be so smooth, Taylor Launter’s crying with envy,” The boys laughed for a moment, and eventually, Logan squeaked out at least one chuckle. “Yeah… Smooth as butter. Right, gotcha.” “Umm, boys?” Camille’s voice faltered. Back to the bush! Logan thought before jumping into the itchy shrubs again. Kendall facepalmed himself; Carlos clapped his hand over his mouth, smothering his giggling. Yeah, smooth as butter, the poor geek. Her eyes descried the empty pool chair. “Where’s Logan? He left his jacket at the café yesterday.” It still had the smell of black coffee on it. A sly smile tweaked on James’ lips. “Nope, haven’t seen him. Thanks, Cam.” She knew they were lying. When she left (or danced her way to the studio; whatever works), still imagining about her face on the silver screen, James turned to the shrubs and grinned. “Smooth, Logie; real smooth.” He tossed the jacket at him. Logan’s face flushed into a deep scarlet. He wasn’t a ladies’ man and he’d admit that. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be embarrassed, though. Carlos smiled, but without a hint of haughtiness. “Guys, let’s try not to fight, now. We’re back at Palm Woods, Gustavo hadn’t yelled once, and we have an entire summer to—” The Latino was interrupted by the sound of an angered scream. Startled, he fell off his inflatable pool chair, the May sunlight still beating on his skin. When he shot his head out of the water, the scream rattled their skulls again. “WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON THOSE DOGS…!” Gustavo bayed, the source of his anger coming from Rocque Records, the studio next door. Whenever Gustavo’s gets a case, even when they don’t know what’s going on, the boys are sent running. One time, Gustavo even tried to find the knives in their kitchen cabinets when chasing them to their apartment (he knows where they are now, thanks to Carlos’ blithe and naïve help). The only fearless one was Kendall, and he rolled his eyes as James hid behind a palm tree and Logan crouched back into the bushes. If I had a quarter for every time they ran away, I could buy Luxembourg at this point, his thoughts sneered. “If Gustavo asks, I collapsed from lack of sugar water! Bye!” Carlos curled up and sunk back into the water. At least, until Kendall grabbed his hockey helmet to yank him back to the surface. “Look, we’re not hiding from Gustavo! We didn’t do anything, right?” The boys reluctantly nodded as they emerged from their hiding places. “Even Carlos did nothing wrong, and that’s saying something.” Carlos shot a catlike smile at him, his eyes lolling off at the sky, as if daydreaming. “Yeah… wait, what?” “Anyways,” Kendall continued. “Gustavo would believe us if we told him the truth, right?” Awkward silence hung for a moment. Kendall’s somewhat confident smile still stayed. “Oh, come on.” As the boys treaded slowly to the studio, Logan stayed behind for a moment, staring at the jacket sadly before putting it on. “You coming or what, Logan?” Kendall called after him. He quickened to them, trying to ignore Camille staring at him… …longingly. 2: Destruction “Arrrggh!” Gustavo yelled as he angrily paced around the trashed studio. The boys stood frozen as their eyes went wide in horror at the destruction around them. A few shattered records, platinum or gold, were strewn across the floor; old posters of previous bands were shredded, the cheap black frames hanging by a wire; a couch or two was overturned, one of the cushions looking like a cat had clawed across the pearl grey fabric; at least one window was broken, a brick before each one; broken lamp shards were also strewn about, various colors brightening the carpet’s dull, faded scarlet color; desks were smashed, a lone sledgehammer thrown on the ground as evidence before them; blurred graffiti was smeared across the walls, saying Big Time Hell! and other derogatory phrases. Out of all the things totaled and shattered, Gustavo’s clarity and common sense were the most shattered. The boys didn’t have anything comforting to say; they were shocked, too. Some gutter punk actually totaled their studio and made it look like they did it. If something was certain, Satan would have a cage ready for him once Gustavo finds him. It was rumored that he killed a man with the brawn in his fists and the din in his voice. The man clawed at his face, muttering some profanity here and there. Kelly copied him in pacing, trying to calm him down. Even she would know that Big Time Rush would’ve caused that much destruction. However, remembering the time they destroyed his mansion while he recorded a more benevolent band, Gustavo had a reason to think they did that; even the boys would understand why he thought it was another stupid prank. However, their defense was simple other than a childish “we didn’t do it”. They’re three-star pranksters. Yes, they came up with a pranking scale: ::One-star: Ring-and-run ::Two-star: Pantsing ::Three-star: Lip balm glue ::Four-star: Embarrassing YouTube video ::Five-star: Pig blood If they were five-star pranksters, they would have a reason to be afraid, rocking back and forth in the nearest closets. However, prankster or not, they wouldn’t have the bold audacity to commit such a heinous act. But considering Gustavo Rocque, a hard-hearted man as stubborn as a Spanish bull, it was hard to make him believe you. “What’s your plan now, Mr. Honesty?” Logan worriedly muttered at Kendall. He grit his teeth, knowing his friend wouldn’t like the answer. “Arrrggh!” Gustavo repeated, his hands clutching his hat. “Why?!” Kendall replaced his soft laugh with a cough. Sure, Gustavo didn’t deserve it (well, not completely), but he couldn’t help but admit that Gustavo did look a little pathetic. Gustavo spun on his heels, just now noticing the boys were there. Was it also mentioned he had the brains of a dodo bird? He lunged at Kendall, grasping his shoulders enough to cut through cotton and skin. “I know you guys did this! And I have half a mind to fire you guys for this! No, better yet, I have half a mind to kill you guys!” Kendall’s worry began to grow as he felt himself picked up off the ground, filthy pig knuckle nails close to bringing blood. Without thinking, Kendall kicked his gut in order to free himself. Gustavo instantly fell, coughing bovinely. Kendall’s breathing became forced; 4 years of playing soccer before hockey paid off. Gustavo yelled as he started towards them, as if he was a warrior about to make his kill. Luckily, Kelly encircled his shoulders, covering his mouth with a paper bag. “Breathe, Gustavo! Breathe… think happy thoughts, too.” she instructed, gasping for air after running so fast. Soon, his breathing evened with his heartbeat; his pace slowed. The boys sighed in relief, slumped against the walls. Kelly smiled at them; she knew she was useful for something. At least, something other than scrawling out appointment dates on her clipboard. However, she kept her eyes of Gustavo, just to make sure he didn’t pop a blood vessel again. As usual, the expected worry came to life as Gustavo screamed again once facing his trashed office. Presumably, his office was the most demolished. Prized and acclaimed records were reduced to worthless piles of glass; the desk, as previously stated, was left as scrap wood thanks to a ton-heavy sledge; framed Rolling Stones covers of his bands (or him) were thin ribbons of colored paper instead of noble notification. Before Kelly could signal the boys to run, Gustavo turned. Oh, if a face that red and crumpled couldn’t scare them, they were fearless. His eyes were narrowed enough to hide all color, as if his bright orange shades didn’t do that enough. That kind of stare would easily send them running. Surprisingly, they didn’t; maybe it was because that kind of stare could sometimes freeze others into stone, almost like a male Medusa. The only difference between Gustavo and Medusa was that he’d attack his victims when angry; and they knew that too well as he started towards them, his fat hands almost cutting through the flesh of Kendall’s neck. A few slurred swearwords floated around his head, words his ears need never hear. His eyes gaped open, the twisted and untamable fury in Gustavo’s face alarming him a possible tombstone with his name engraved in silver. It wasn’t long until the boys and Kelly quickly tried to separate them. “Gustavo!” a background voice shouted. Hunter and prey turned. That was when a woman emerged from the shadows, her blank expression eclipsed by her vivacious voice. She’d be the typical elderly type if it wasn’t for her unique appearance. Her hair was a bright auburn shag, styled in tight curls. As for her clothing and make-up, well, it wasn’t anything stand-out. Her dress looked very vintage considering the cut-outs in her shoulders and the puffed long sleeves. It was a silken scarlet, the same color of her lipstick and ruby dangle earrings; her nails were red too, the color predicted without trying. If those petty things were dime-a-dozen, her eyes weren’t. One was a charming brown, the other was a luminous blue, and that was a condition no amount of thick mascara could hide. After staring at the silent gang for a moment, she clapped her hands together gaily. “What child have I raised?” No sobriety in her voice considering the motherly grin plastered on her face. “Mom!” Gustavo happily cheered as he ran over to greet his mother with a hug. While Kendall was too busy coughing up spit and even blood, the boys couldn’t help but curl their lips in disgust. They were right; Gustavo did have a face only a mother could love. They distracted themselves by helping their friend up. Kendall’s reaction was more annoyance than petty disgust. A mother would love a beast? Who knew? Once the embrace ended, she turned her head to the boys. “Why, hello there. Gustavo, who are these young gentlemen?” “Oh! Mom, this is Big Time Rush, my new band.” The boys stood still, smiling cordially. Kendall stuck his hand out to shake hers, but she instead pulled him into a bear hug. “This is wonderful! This could be our ticket back up top!” she cried happily, the mascara never dripping. Kendall reluctantly returned the hug. Though he left this unsaid, he already found her weirder than Gustavo. Smothered sniggering was silence once Gustavo made mock strangling gestures. She quickly let go and smiled embarrassedly. “I’m sorry. I’m just so proud. And my book club friends said 9 isn’t a lucky number,” She took a moment to share a provisional chuckle with him. “I’m Ruby Rocque, Gustavo’s mother. Nice to meet you.” “Vice versa. I’m Kendall,” “Oh, you don’t have to tell me your name; Gustavo told me all about you fine boys. Of course, maybe I shouldn’t quote him at this minute; I see you’re shaken up enough,” That was when honest laughter lightened up the tense mood. It was almost as if she didn’t notice such demolition around her. Of course, they didn’t get their hopes up. How could they when there wasn’t hope to begin with? “Wha…? Gustavo, who did this?” “Some two-bit punk broke in—literally—and trashed the studio,” Fear and anger formed a perfect mix in his voice. While not openly shown, the thought of Gustavo actually weakened was unbelievable. Whenever the boys looked at him, the only source of fear was coming from them. Logan stepped forward, about to say something for apologetic succor, but Ruby stopped him for a moment. She just stared at him, and what was also not openly shown was the fact that it really creeped them out. They didn’t know if she spaced out or if she was about to have lasers shoot out of her eyes. It wasn’t long until her gaze met others. “I highly doubt that these boys did this,” she scratched her forehead for a moment. “But Kendall, can you please stick out your palm?” He glanced at his friends for a moment, a bit baffled at what she requested. He wasn’t even sure if he heard that right; he still felt a bit stolid from the rays his skin absorbed earlier. In spite of his confusion, he turned to her and responded coolly, “Yes, m’am.” I bet she’ll just read my palm… She didn’t. She was actually looking for any color other than his skin tone; that meant just the slightest speck of purple or so forth would prove them guilty. Ruby didn’t mean that as something against Kendall, but if memory serves, any time Gustavo talks about the “dogs”, he compares Kendall’s grace to the grace of a St. Bernard (the only time Kendall’s ever been called a saint.). She let go of his hand; that same smile reappeared. “I knew you wouldn’t have done this anyway,” Sigh. His thoughts buzzed as she examined the destruction more. Yet, it was sort of odd how she’d observe him and still know he’s innocent. Nah, it probably didn’t mean anything; maybe it was the Big Time Hell! graffiti phrase that helped her prove Gustavo wrong. She clicked her tongue, shook her head. “Such senseless mutiny nowadays…” Mutiny? Was that even a word? Perhaps it a Shakespearean word; besides, she seemed like the woman to love Shakespeare. She lowered her bifocals, the slim black rims being the only thing that wasn’t red. Her eyes averted to the chipped straw basket she held. “Gustavo, have you ever heard of the Hargensen Mansion?” With silence used as his response, she couldn’t help but giggle benignly. “Apparently, I should give a proper introduction first,” She handed out flyers to everyone (well, except for Freight Train; he left for a vacation in the Bahamas. Lucky guy.) “The Hargensen Mansion was created in 1999, located in Chamberlain, Maine. Once a rueful ghost town due to the Black Prom, John Hargensen decided to provide life to such a cursed city,” “By building a mansion hotel?” Logan’s signature skepticism was the only thing that made him attractive at times. If regular girls didn’t think so, squalling and cackling fangirls sure thought so. “Perplexing, isn’t it? Well, since John is considered a bit of a yellow-gutted big shot like his daughter was, he must’ve gotten another arrogant thought that some hotel would destroy an abandoned reputation. Apparently, it’s worked. They have everything that you’d expect at a hotel, e.g. a swimming pool deeper than the Canyon, but they also have a recording studio for visiting celebrities. Heh, that’s the only time John was overly prepared,” It quickly became quiet again; at least, the boys were quiet. Gustavo was close to cheering and dancing. The boys expected themselves to groan in disappointment that their planned summer vacation was out of the question; but looking at the studio and the time it’ll take until Griffin receives their second album, the idea of a hotel didn’t sound so bad; the pool thing especially won their approval. “Well, what’re we standing around for?” Ruby cheeped, her smile broader and toothier. “Let’s pack.” As everyone else sauntered to their rooms, Logan pulled the kind woman aside. Her expression didn’t faze. “Umm, Ms. Rocque? Can I ask a small question?” “You just did,” she tittered. “But go on ahead.” Logan twiddled with his fingers awkwardly, but then took in needed breath to speak. “What was the Black Prom about?” He didn’t expect Ruby to answer; he already knew. He probably only asked just to see if this woman knew what she was talking about. Most women he knew in their 60s mistook Whoopi Goldberg for Harriet Tubman. The Black Prom was the event when that uppity rich girl Christine Hargensen and her cheap noodle-brained boyfriend Billy Nolan pranked a young mousy girl by pouring a bucket of pig blood on her. Instantly, almost as instant as a fire alarm, laughing and hog-calling filled the air. The rest was a bloody, screaming blur and Logan knew what that meant; he just refused to speak of it, unless he felt a need to rush to the bathroom vomiting. The only thing he couldn’t remember was the girl’s name. However, he didn’t try to remember as Ruby’s startling response came to him. “Why answer something you already know… Hortense?” 3: Nightmare The wait at the airport wasn’t as strenuously long as people say it is. The giant plasma cut off all other sound; the only thing they could hear was either the news or a concert by a forgotten singer. Who she was, they didn’t care; all they knew was that he must’ve been a favorite of Kendall’s since he couldn’t stop bumping his heels to the song. It actually wasn’t, but whatever song plays—even if it was by an artist he hated—Kendall would still listen and bear it. It was like he had musical notes for blood cells. The rest didn’t seem to notice, as they usually wouldn’t. James strolled through random apps on his iPhone, ear buds never taken out once; he usually turned the volume up in case some started to comment and snicker on how his ear buds were purple, a so-called “sissy color”. Carlos did the usual: buy a corn dog from a stand inside the airport. It didn’t weird him out; just yesterday, when they arrived home, he noticed that same guy was selling shampoo. He definitely liked this business more. The only one with nothing to do was Logan. He was too startled to do anything but think. This is fathomless! he thought first. How did she know? Why would she want to know? Okay, calm down, Logie. There’s nothing to worry about. Hortense is a stupid name anyways… Gustavo must’ve told her; y’know how he likes to torture you. Come to think of it, he tortures all of—Wait a minute! I never told him my real name! Then how did she know?! His thoughts droned for what felt like forever until their flight was called over the intercom. His mind sighed, as he would say. He needed a break from thinking. He looked over at Ruby. She’d gotten new bifocals, as in rimless; the lenses were smaller, too, as if not there. He wasn’t paying attention to the glasses, though; he was paying attention to what she was doing. She didn’t notice as she walked over to a shadowed wall. A little girl, flaxen pigtails and all, was curled and slumped against the wall. She wasn’t crying, but with her head hung heavy, it was hard to tell. A mask of concern came over Ruby’s face; she looked lost. However, she stood and stared for a moment; so did Logan. Then, she knelt down, her nails stroked over a cheek with a diamond tear. Her lips parted. “Amber,” she whispered. The girl’s head shot up in surprise. Ruby shushed her as she began to cry again. “Your mother’s over on the third bench on the left side,” A smile came across her face as the girl hugged her knees before skipping along to her equally-worried mother. Logan’s eyes were wider than poached eggs. She knew her name, and she never even met her before. It was almost as if— “Logan!” James called after him. “You’re not gonna find the mansion over there!” With an unnerved look in his eyes, Logan nodded and responded with a soft “Sorry,” before running up to his gang. The only thing that remained in his thoughts was nothingness. At least, for now. Blankets of darkness and fog faltered and floated aimlessly below the plane. Rain bounced off the windows like bullets against metal; lightning hewed the starless sky in half, thunder rattled all sleeping passengers. Logan didn’t stop reading, though; the continuous light provided from outside helped him read better. It was a Steven Queen book called The Stand, Logan’s favorite. It always fascinated him on how one elderly man could combine good and evil as if they were one; even if his stories would freak him out. Somehow, Logan always read disturbing things when disturbed, and Steven Queen was his first pick. Turning off his Kindle after re-reading for the fourth time, Logan sighed. His back slumped against the white leather seat, his mind barely focused. Everything was a blur; a paused scene in time. That’s what it felt like when enveloped by darkness. He sat in a seat by himself, as he usually would. Even though he didn’t see it, his friends were honestly worried about him. Sure, they thought it was still guilt over Camille, but this wasn’t like Logan to merely disconnect from the group and walk with a cold gaze and a pale face. He didn’t care. He instead curled up into himself and forced his eyes shut, trying to fall into peaceful slumber. That wasn’t possible as something else connected with the window. Logan didn’t flinch like he normally would. He instead groaned. His head fell to the side, his forehead sticking to the glass. His eyes remained shut, his hands remained fists on his lap. His brows knit together as that same sound bounced off the window and faltered away from his mind. When it came a third time, he groaned again, louder this time. He ran a small hand through his ebony spiked hair before looking out the window. This was the only time he wasn’t startled; it must’ve been hail. His eyelids hung heavy as only a faded image was provided for him. However, his eyes ripped open once… “HELP ME, PLEASE!” Carrie screamed, her delicate fists banging against the glass. It was surprising that no cracks were formed. Logan stumbled backwards, falling flat on his back as she wailed, rivers of tears formed on her bloodied cheeks. She hung on like a spider on her web; she wouldn’t let go. It was almost as if she was trying to attack him. Carlos quickly rushed over while Kendall and James were safe and sound in their mindless dreaming. “Logan?” No answer. Carlos rushed to the front when he saw a lithe and lean form staggering up from the floor. He grabbed Logan’s right arm to help him. “Logan, what happened? Are you okay?” Even though he knew he was lying, Logan nodded and mouthed “Yes,” He should’ve known Carlos wouldn’t believe that. “If you’re okay, why were you on the floor?” Logan was too busy shivering to answer; Carlos wasn’t frustrated. How could he when he found his dearest friend in a bout of epilepsy on the floor? Quickly, before it looked like Logan would faint, Carlos helped him up. “Did you have a nightmare?” “P-pro-p-probably,” Logan stuttered. Eventually, a humorous, yet hesitant, smile crept onto Carlos’ lips. “Don’t worry, I’ve been scared out of my seat before,” Logan looked at him, unsure about his comfort. Sometimes, he didn’t even know if Carlos knew what he was talking about. “Yeah, remember the week I spent away from Minnesota? Y’know, the vacation I had in Florida? Well, my brother Adrian played the entire Saw series and when I fell asleep in the car, he put on the Jigsaw mask and yelled out, ‘I want to play a game!’ I swear, the minute we got to the hotel, I scrambled out of the van as fast as I could. Mom was so mad at Adrian, but she let that slide; she just threw away the DVDs from his suitcase. Just imagine how many jokes my brothers made,” A shared laughter actually helped a bit. Whenever someone’s shaken up or downright depressed, Carlos was the guy to turn to when no one else is around. Sure, he may pick fights too much, but he means well. As the laughter quieted, Logan whispered, “I’ll go get a drink of water. Thanks, Carlos,” “Anytime, Logie, anytime,” Carlos smiled before sitting back down to return to his fantasies. Logan sighed as he looked out the windows. Carrie was nowhere in sight. That was when thought returned ungainly, but fearlessly. Okay, you’ve been reading too much Steven Queen, Logie ol’ boy. Everything’s fine; you’re just tired, that’s all. He stood content with his thoughts before nudging the door open to see if anyone was in there. The only one in there was Ruby, rocking back and forth on her knees, whispering the Lord’s Prayer. For privacy’s sake, the door shut noiselessly. 4: Preparation The vicious sunlight fell into the lounge as patches. She didn’t care as she paced worriedly around, the dust from the rug sticking to her shoes. She licked her lips and sighed again. They’re not coming, Cassie, admit it! her thoughts screamed as if real voices. Besides, why would they? Why would big shot celebrities like Big Time Rush want to stay here? They probably change their minds and went to a Cali hotel instead! Flex. The couch was in mid-air before the desk was. Cassie didn’t notice; she was too busy pacing. Bite marks formed pitiful patterns over her knuckles as she whined softly. A sharp headache came as she grabbed her hair and yanked worriedly. Eventually, everything was levitating except her. The grandfather clock spun in circles like a fan; the TV’s static shut off once the plug hung limply. The ticking sounded like a bomb in Cassie’s head, not a clock. She didn’t care to check the time. She was confident that the boys weren’t coming. The ground rumbled beneath her feet. A wood plank in the ground snapped. When the sound of a car engine stirred from the parking lot, she stopped. Everything fell with a loud crash or thump. That didn’t bother her; they would piece together easily. And when thinking about that, it happened with the snap of her fingers. She looked outside to see if someone wasn’t going to egg the mansion again. The second she saw Logan step out, she almost squealed. Despite no knowledge of modern music, Big Time Rush was her favorite band. She had no idea, but her defiant reason for liking them was their charm. Even in the simplest of church lurches wouldn’t help but find them adorable. However, her favorite wasn’t James of Kendall. It was actually Logan. She wasn’t, what they call, “Big Time Crushing” on him, but he was just her favorite. He was mousy, shy, and timid; but at the same time, he was sweet, smart, and caring. She’d say he was like her, but she’d X out the positive traits. She never had positive traits. In a panic, she ran off to her office, where a mirror awaited her there. She only had a few minutes to fix her face. It was hard to say she wasn’t pretty; prudish, maybe, but certainly not ugly. Her hair was a brown, crunchy billow that fell gracelessly across her shoulders. The only problem with them was that it covered her face too much. She swiped away a few annoying flyaway strands, but that was it. Her eyes weren’t anything special. A dark teal color, yes, but not special. She was dressed in the expected: a silk button-down blouse, denim ankle-length skirt, and black, scratched Mary Janes. She looked at the Holy Bible and diamond Cross necklace slung out across the cover. Without wait, she swiftly put on the necklace and threw the old book into the drawers. Walking out into the lounge, she looked around. The TV was placed back onto the wall as if never fallen; everything was pieced together perfectly. She licked her lips, breathed in confidence. The only thing she could think of was a smile directed at her for once. When the boys arrived, it was good to know that Ruby had rented a Packard in order to drive to the hotel. Sure, Packards weren’t driven anymore, but the salesman promised that it was in perfect condition. Ruby was sure he wasn’t lying; the boys weren’t. Chamberlain wasn’t a ghost town anymore, that’s for sure. But there was still a problem: Sin City was the best description for Chamberlain. Rapists ran amok, cops laughed at the poor, and it was hard to think that there was one mansion hotel that stood unscathed since every building was decorated with rude, bold graffiti. This didn’t leave the boys running; with a bullhead like Gustavo around, they were safe. Yet, this was the only thing the boys could agree on: Chamberlain was a 2012-like city. And they were proven right when they had to walk to the rental store. The sunlight pounded against their skin, random sinners throwing coffee mugs at them and laughing. However, they stopped once Ruby shot icy glares at them and called them out. Whenever Ruby yelled at the bullies, that was when they understood Logan’s sudden trepid convulsion from last night (yes, Carlos told). Four of the things they remembered Ruby shouting was “Hey Travis, you’re not gonna get more hookers in bed with that attitude!” and “I still can’t believe you didn’t fail private school, Mark!” and “Sorry Hanna, but I don’t think sluts would’ve sold vintage dolly dresses in 1st grade!” and “No wonder your mother disowned you, Hugh!” Instantly, their eyes went wide. Not only were Ruby’s comebacks hurtful—albeit witty and amusing—they were at people she never even knew. If memory serves, she never even visited Chamberlain. No surprise. The boys high-fived each other when they reached the store. Surprisingly, no graffiti marked the shell of a good business; no broken windows were in sight. The only thing in sight was a Kelly green Packard and a bald man with a truthful smile on his face. Ruby shook his hand. “Nice to see you again, Robert,” she said. The boys relaxed when they realized that they knew each other. Logan scoped around the store a bit more. Putting the mind-boggling subject of Ruby’s ways behind him, he was actually amazed. The register had not a fingerprint, the bird squawked happily in its cage. The only bad thing in there was a rotten patron he bumped into. “Hey! Watch it, deadbeat!” he screamed. All heads turned. “Oh, I’m really sorry mister, I didn’t mean t—” Logan was interrupted as the bony back of the man’s hand struck his cheek. Ruby instantly rushed over. “Stay out of this, lady!” “What on Earthly Heaven is the matter? He merely bumped into you; no need for such a cat fit,” Logan nodded innocently, running his index finger over a future bruised cheek. The man tilted his hat, as if trying to be the barrel-chested Chuck Norris. He scoffed, “Really? Well, Grandma, wasn’t he merely gonna search through my coat pockets and steal all the cash?” He turned to a teetering Logan and stomped on his back. “Yeah, keep staggering ya ox.” Ruby turned him around, dithering anger in her eyes livid as a flame. Robert adjusted his monocle. “Sir, I cannot allow fighting in the build—” “Shut up!” he hollered. Robert did once he saw his register flying at the wall. Quarters and all coins fell with such clinking, as if making music. Ruby signaled Robert to stay back as she twisted back to him. She did something no one saw her do… “What was that for, lady?” the man snarled, stumbling up after she slapped him. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips thinned into a confident smile. “As Jezebel fell, so will you. Washed in blood, yes; but washed in Blood of Lamb, no. No one will save you,” “Shut it, Jesus Freak!” “In fact, if memory serves…” she walked in a circle around him, tapping her fingernail against her bottom lip. “Did anyone save you when you were chased by that abusive coach and you swam to shore?” That’s right: no one did,” So much for Chuck Norris. The man ran away in raging shame. She knelt down to help Logan up. “Are you okay, darling?” “Yes, m’am,” A more undaunted smile, this time. “Wow, Mom. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Gustavo praised. A sense of humble pride came over Ruby. “Well, you know I take yoga to achieve balance in Yin and Yang, right? Well, my instructor Tex Fisher said that my Yang is as rare as gold; this was one of those moments, though.” Robert smiled as he collected his scattered coins. “Robert, do you need help?” “Oh no, Ruby, you’ve done enough. In fact, how about you take it for free?” “Honestly? Wouldn’t that betray the store policy?” That was when his high-pitched giggle rang in their ears. “Nah, go ahead. Anything for the girl I went to the Homecoming Dance with. Just return it and call me when you want to ride in it again,” Ruby hugged him politely and strolled in a calmly slow pace to the car. While the boys admired the prime beauty of the Packard, Logan instead talked to Robert. “Weren’t you weirded out by that?” “No,” Insert the classic eye widen and Robert laughed. “You’re a lily-liver, aren’t you?” “T-that’s not the point!” Logan stuttering meant that he agreed in spite of his sudden defense. “How does she do that? Is it some mind-scanning thing?” Even though he must’ve known the answer deep down in that gifted brain of his, he was too scared to find out. Robert pulled his face closer, only an inch further. “The only thing I can say is this,” he whispered ever so softly. “Everything either is or isn’t what it seems.” His voice got louder as he pulled away and patted Logan’s shoulder blades. “Hope that helps!” Yeah, real confidence booster, Logan’s thoughts smirked before stepping into the car and riding down the sunlit road. Downtown Chamberlain fared no better. Gunfire was the soundtrack, composed by quivering terror. At least one splash of blood was swallowed by the pavement; either that or a crushed cig butt or two. They tried not to look, but it was so hard not to. It was so sad that such a town, once stoic yet successful, was reduced to nothing but stark bleakness. Anyone Ruby drove blithely had sin tattooed blatantly. Trying to stay focused, the boys leaned against the seats, the leather upholstery sticking to their sweating necks. However, before reaching their destination—which was mounted upon a shriveled brown hill—a series of chills came down all four spines as the sign outshone the spectral silver fog. '''''The Black Prom anniversary is on May 27th. Carrie lives. 5: Scar “Hi, there,” Cassie would be sarcastic if she said she wasn’t chipper to see Big Time Rush. “Welcome to the Hargensen Mansion! I’m Cassie Right and I’m pleased to meet you,” To her secret enjoyment, Logan shook her hand first. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m Logan.” Cassie Right? Wasn’t there a name that rhymed with that? “Care for a tour?” Insert unison nodding. Even though the lounge gave the hint, the hotel was very far from unsophisticated. Statues of faded marble stood tall and proud; paintings hung from every wall on every turn, whether replicas or paintings of the Hargensens. Logan gave a half-smile and asked, “Where are pictures of you, Cassie?” “Ohuh?” He ignored that it was the dumbest sound she made. “Aren’t you a Hargensen?” Cassie stuttered, searched her brain for an answer. Then, like a light bulb flash, the answer came. “Well, I’m adopted,” With the clothes on, it was apt that she wasn’t related to such a pompous money bag family. Throughout the tour, the boys were marveled easily; Logan was in his own way. He was focused on the sophistication, his friends was focused on the king-size pool in the backyard. Cassie giggled childishly at their reaction to the pool. “The water sparkles like jewelry, doesn’t it?” She giggled when they were too marveled to speak. Ruby pulled her aside. “Boys and their petty pleasures nowadays, huh?” “Back then, it was all about jukeboxes and quarter flapjacks,” “It’s sad how much things have changed in bliss’s sake. Back then, I would’ve sold my soul for Gramm’s bird’s nest soup recipe.” Cassie laughed humbly at Ruby’s eccentric zeal in her eyes. Ruby quickly pictured it in her head: her grandmother stood in the kitchen, hair burnt to an orange and free. Ruby could also remember the smell of the soup and licked her lips. “I guess I’m just a big lame-brain, aren’t I?” “Not as lame-brained as me with my favorite foods,” Cassie replied. “Whenever Momma was in a good mood, she’d make Betty Crocker cake; my favorite was apple cake.” The older nodded, but when she looked at her watch, Cassie held the rest of her thought. “Let’s get a move-on, boys.” For once, someone listened to her. It wasn’t long until the tour was nearing an end, but Cassie had one more thing to show them: the view from the balcony. That was the only beautiful thing about Chamberlain: its faraway view, especially during the nighttime. It was an amazing view; it looked like the world was in your command, as if you could reach out and it would fit into your palms. Cassie sighed as wind tossed away her locks before her hand could. “I remember the only view of Chamberlain I had before was from the car window,” she joked and laughed along with the boys. They did have to admit, the cursed sunlight was more holy from a view like that. It was like manifested hallelujah, the only hallelujah they could find in this town. Cassie’s head hung modestly; her face was glowing, the sunlight captured in her eyes. She highly doubted that the boys wouldn’t notice. She cleared her throat to end the silence. “Now, I believe I should show you to your room,” They gave a nod and followed her downstairs. When Logan followed them, his heart stilled as if caught on a thorn. Fear crept into him again; there was a good reason why. Maybe it was the feeling of the paintings watching them with oily eyes… …or maybe the scabby red scar that appeared through the fabric on Cassie’s left shoulder. 6: Hysteria “Wow, what a room!” James exclaimed happily. “Four separate beds, fancy soaps, HD, it’s as if she planned this!” “Mm-hmm,” Logan kept his lips puckered thin. If he spoke, they’d notice a crack in his voice. He rubbed his temples. “Are you okay, dude?” James asked. “Uh, y-yeah. I just... didn’t you notice something odd about Cassie?” Logan blinked at the ground. “I mean, didn’t you see, I dunno, a scar on her shoulder?” …What the heck was I thinking? They’d never believe me. “Uhh… please excuse us for a moment,” Kendall and the other two huddled together like a football team. They didn’t have to say it for Logan to find out: they thought he’s gone plum crazy, that’s it. He could tell by the murmurs floating back and forth. “Can someone say Chinese flu?” “Shut up, James,” “What? I’m just lightening the mood. Relax, dude.” “James, this is serious,” “What’s serious? Kendall, it’s not like this is new; Logan’s always paranoid. Remember 1st grade? We told him the teacher was a vampire and he always sat in the back until he found out.” “First off, for the record, you did that; second, this isn’t paranoia. Logan actually sounds… afraid. It’s like he’s hiding something.” “Shh, guys!” Carlos finally joined in on the heated conversation. “He could hear you. He has the ears of a humming bird,” “It’s the ears of an eagle, thank you very much,” Logan sneered. A twisted mix of frustration and understanding formed a tornado in his mind. So what if he was always paranoid? So what? He was actually telling the truth. When the boys turned, James quickly fished through his pockets for his iPhone. He went to his pictures. One of them was a picture of the balcony view, the one where he accidentally got half of Cassie in the picture. James pointed at her shoulder. “See? There’s nothing there other than fabric,” “But I swear I saw some blood—” While not trying to be rude, Kendall covered his mouth. “Look, Logie, we’re gonna head to the pool; maybe you should stay behind and rest. Trust me, you’ll need it,” Logan nodded, trying to hide his frustration. When they left, his thoughts were strung into a series of self-arguments. What’s the matter with you?! one side of his thoughts reprimanded. You’re losing your crap over something that isn’t even real! Okay, calm down; take a breath. Maybe it was just the man hitting you that shook you up a little. Shook? You should have beaten him into next Saturday. How could I? I’m too frail to do that. Frail? Don’t you mean wussy? Face it, a mouse has more strength than you. Hey! Do I look like an Eminem-like gangster to ya? Logan’s always known to have split conscience. No, it’s not like an angel appears on one shoulder and a devil appears on the other; it’s more animate mentally instead of physically. One half of his brain would reprimand him about the usual flaws; the other half would defend him. His thoughts were always trapped in polarized fighting, as if Abel and Cain. After a quarter after five, Logan grunted in pain from the headache and walked sluggishly to the bathroom. James was right: it was fancy. Little orange soap bars lied in the stall; the mirror looked as big as Russia. Logan stared at his reflection for a moment before cranking the faucet. It was already rusted; no surprise. This was one of the abandoned rooms in the hotel, as Cassie said during the tour. Instead of drinking, Logan splashed a cold wave of water in his face. It was merely to wake him from his ridiculous nightmares. His eyes slowly took in his face again. Other than cold beads of water sliding down his creamy face, he did notice something different about him. His skin grew blanched, probably from the chills. His hair was messy enough to be a bird’s nest instead of hair; his eyes fell into vapid nothing. Even his shadow wasn’t the same. It was almost like it wasn’t— Margaret stood still, draped in ivory lace. Blood stained her virtuosity for Christ, the knife held idly in her hand. Wavy auburn locks now grayed and lifeless hovered above her shoulders. The wrinkles made her contorted frown even more menacing. That was when she spoke. Oh, what chills! “There’s going to be a judgment! I wash my hands of it! I tried!” Logan ducked. The knife flew from her hand and into the mirror. Pilate wept in his grave at her rage in quote as she screamed it longingly again. “O Lord! In this time of need, strengthen me!” She curled her fingers into a fist and swung at him. The bruise in his cheek deepened. “You are my strength and my shield; You are my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble!” Her foot connected with the wall when she aimed for his rump. “I know, Father, that Your eyes go to and fro throughout the Earth to strengthen those whose hearts long for You!” She yanked his hair in order to faze him. “The body grows weary, but my hope is in You to renew my strength. I do not fear, for You are with me. I am not dismayed or overwhelmed, for You are my God. I know You will strengthen me and help me; that You will uphold me with Your righteous hand!” A right foot came stomping onto his gut. Logan coughed, a bloody lip quiver noticeable. “Even as the shadows of illness cover me, I feel the comfort of Your strength, O Lord!” The knife fell into her palm again, a pained Logan crawling out of the bathroom. However, everything came to a grinding halt as something dark red fell to the floor in penny-sized drops. Margaret wailed. It was so frightening; her forearms covered her teary face, the knife before Logan’s feet. She fell to her knees and raved the Lord’s Prayer in guilty fashion. It looked like she was praying for forgiveness, but it certainly wasn’t for attacking Logan as her hand crawled and stretched like a spider for the fallen weapon. “O Lord, be gracious unto us; we have waited for thee; be thou their arm every morning our salvation also in times of trouble…” Her heavy eyes stared at him, a lone tear falling slowly to her chin. It wasn’t long, however, until the same insanity came into her expression as she raised the knife. “AMEN!” Logan’s arms shielded him, his voice stolen to prevent screaming. A knock on the door interrupted such sudden hysteria. “Anyone in there?” a soft voice called. Whew, it was just Cassie. Without looking back, Logan ran to the door. Her eyes drowned in worry. “Logan, are you okay? I heard a loud noise.” She gasped at his bruise, his bloody mouth. “Did someone do this to you?!” “Yes, actually, she—” He could point a finger at no one. Cassie looked upon him with deepest care. “Where’d she go?” “Who?” “That Christian nut, the one that attacked me!” He should’ve stopped when she iced into a statue. “She was repeating a strength prayer, quoting Pilate, and before I knew, she almost stabbed me to death!” Cassie snapped out of it and ran to him. Her fingers smoothed over the bruise tenderly. Their eyes met. “What else happened?” “Well, she… s-she fell in anguish all of a sudden and cried the Lord’s Prayer, all because her period came,” Iced, again; Cassie blinked to make sure it was real. She wished it wasn’t. Logan fell onto the bed, a convulsion threatening to happen. He turned to Cassie. “I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that—” “Are you sure someone attacked you? There’s no evidence,” “Wha…?” The bloodstain on the carpet vanished, the mirror remained together; the knife was no more that nothing, the hole in the wall a hole in existence. Logan shook his head in confusion. “Cassie, I swear a woman—” She cut him off with a shoulder hug. It was an odd feel to him. It was… a weird, burning jitter that coursed through his veins, a sudden aurora of color in him. And this was a mere sympathetic hug. He didn’t know Cassie was the TLC type. Her nail ran across the bruise to his lip, another chilling color bursting in his mind. “Logan…” she whispered. “it’s okay. Look, maybe it was the chlorine you smelled when visiting the pool,” A bitter, tentative laugh lessened the tense moment. “Heh, I-I swear if I keep forgetting to change the pH balance in the chlorine, I might as well serve Windex as a drink,” “Wasn’t there something else you needed?” “Oh, right!” Cassie exclaimed. I’m such a dumb puddin’. She ignored her insulting—yet true—thoughts and came with a heavy suitcase in her hand. “You left your luggage in the lobby,” “Oh, thanks,” He stared at her hand for a moment. The poor thing had creased all over her palm. “Is your hand okay? It looks a little purplish,” “Yeah… I’m as strong as a rose petal,” A sudden rush of mettle was hidden in her blush when he smiled. “Well, I hope you recover from that little… fiasco, Logan,” “Thanks, Cass. Uhh, you don't mind if I call you that, do you?” The most heart-warming smile spread across her face. “Not at all,” The door closed silently; that was the same time when another door creaked open. He turned around quickly. It was coming from the bathroom. Of course it would, he thought, a more smirk than shiver this time, I’ve seen Psycho. ''Tip-toeing in there, he found the door to the closet empty and waiting for the first piece of luggage to be thrown in there. The only other thing in there was… …a white, lacy, bloodstained nightgown. 7: Satisfied The hotel stilled in eternal silence, something essential for the night. Cassie paced around, circled near the elevator. The bite marks had disappeared, but her teeth chattered to no end. Her skin fell into a blue, wanly paleness. Her ugly brown wig was tossed across her desk, letting her blonde hair bounce and fly free. She rubbed the base of her head, a few specks of warm blood underneath her nails. ''Hairpins really hurt, her thoughts muttered. Her eyes never left her feet; she feared to look at the world around her. She feared the shadow that attacked Logan would attack her. Maybe I’ve lost it, too, she thought when rushing into her office. With a click of double-locking, she was alone again. More at peace, she would say when in a better mood. Her office looked more like an altar instead of an office. Candles lit the way to her bed, a simple futon. The blankets were always tangled and strewn from sleepless nights. A crucifix hung just above a larger chain of candles. The sweet smell of cinnamon and apple swirled in the smoke of her Holy Flames. Bronze statues of angels stood at the far end of the ground-level pedestal. One by one, they went out as she knelt down and prayed. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us of our sins as we’ve forgive those who’ve sinned us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.” Cassie took a minute to breathe before looking into other prayers. She didn’t pray because she was desperate; she prayed because she was weak and backsliding. The grandfather clock (or grandfather, as she would abbreviate it to) struck nine. She flipped through the first pages of Genesis. “I hope you hear this Momma, hear the words of Carrie, not Cassie; hear the words the Fallen cry while the Angel sings,” she said, eyes gone cold from stern declaration. As perceived, her mind flexed and whatever happened proved something: Cassie Right was Carrie White. Her eyes fixated from the window to the Bible in her hands. The Cross necklace dangled from her hallow neck. “And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” she began, trying to pull of her mother’s devout assurance in Sin. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called Sin and the first Sin was Intercourse, a Sin that hast even you plagued, Momma,” Carrie could feel her mother writhing and sobbing wildly at the truth that her deepest desire was another feel of the Sin her husband brought forth in a thrashing unconsciousness. “And the Lord visited Eve with a Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Blood. Eve was weak, and so were you,” she covered her mouth for a moment, shocked at her own defiance against years of being beaten into praying wholeheartedly for nothing. However, the lingering thought of that, made her continue. “When the Lord hath banished the two Sinners of our history, Eve had found her belly grew big with a child. Repentance never came; only dark, horrific joy,” she bit her tongue. When did she ever speak such fancy Shakespearean words? Well, she did remember her mother writing that down for her to remember her “lesson”. She continued. “And the Lord brought forth a second Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Childbearing. In sweat and blood, she brought forth Cain and Abel; but never repented. In His last choler, the Lord brought forth a third Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Murder. From the grassland, Cain rose up and slew Abel, the blood forever stained the cursed grounds he walked upon,” Carrie stopped to hang her head, almost as if expecting to be hit. Instead, she imagined it. Oh, her mother would’ve killed her if rebellious! No more weak and backsliding for Margaret if she had lived. Her dark teal eyes haunted Carrie, her wrinkled frown a tumor in her conscience. Rising her head, she almost thought her face was staring at her. If she was, disdain and misery would flood in her eyes. Carrie took in a deep breath for the last part. She sent a framed picture of her mother in front of her (telekinetically, of course). “With repentance never formed, Eve and her daughters brought forth the kingdom of Whoredom and Pestilence…” The frame cracked as shot up to her feet, neck stiffened and brows linked in agonizing lamentation. “''And then she brought forth you!”'' The picture disintegrated before her and the frame fell. A loud shatter rang in Carrie’s ears as she fell to her knees again and wept shamefully. Her past was like rape: you could never forget it. In fact, rape was what started her life, thanks to her drunken father. Her mother fought against him, screaming rashly but at the same time moaning guiltily. Then, little baby Carrie was introduced to her future; a future of self-pity and penance. Her mother asked for a Sign, asked for the Lord’s help; but Carrie did, more. The grandfather struck nine-thirty. Carrie ended her pathetic weeping and bowed her head in respect to the Lord. “Almighty God, from whom all thoughts of trust and peace proceed, kindle in the hearts of all men the true love of peace, and guide with Your pure and peaceable wisdom those who make decisions for the nations of the Earth; that in tranquility Your kingdom may go forward, till the Earth be filled with the knowledge of Your love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” One by one, the candles dimmed; some burned out completely. Carrie peeked outside the window to see what telekinetic rebellion she had created now. Sin Never Dies was engraved into the ground, the rain filling it as if cried for purity. Flex. It went away as if a wave washed it away. As the grandfather ticked monotonously, Carrie quickly dressed into her nightgown and half the candles went out. However, there was one more thing to be done. She set her Bible on top of her closed laptop and stood back. Suddenly, a pair of scissors fell into her hands. Thin blood came across her wrists. She hissed, not in pain, but more in solemn praise for her Lord’s smile. The blood enlivened the shine of the blades. She slowly squeezed more of her “unholy” blood onto the Bible. “Washed in the Blood of Lamb,” she whispered, “for you, my Lord,” She whispered some more strength prayers before the clock struck ten. That was when she went to bed satisfied. Category:Fanfictions